


Filth

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Incest, M/M, PWP, Roleplay, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 03:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10982181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Legolas feigns treason and is suitably punished.





	Filth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vengeful_MEDUSA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vengeful_MEDUSA/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for Vengeful_MEDUSA’s “9. "Where do you think you're going" explicit, preferred kink: watersports [...] I never liked how the throne-room scene between the two kings ended since it held so much potential for a way more erotic ending. Like Thorin would not get away with his little outburst after he insulted Thranduil so blatantly. Instead Thorin ought to get thoroughly humiliated (extra points for his dwarven folks watching the whole scenario) and THEN thrown into the dungeons with the rest of his kin. Super embarrassing! Furious/awkward Thorin and haughty/lofty Thranduil (who really despises dwarves?) Thrandolas would work just as well; I can see the watersports kink working in their favour since they're already in an established relationship with each other (at least from my POV) where the non-conish bits could be part of a role-play” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/160417565360/prompt-list). (I warned the prompter I’d be tweaking it quite a bit to keep it within my request rules...)  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The second Thranduil sees his son coming, he sends the guards away with a mere flick of his hand. They bow on their retreat, sweeping past Legolas and withdrawing from earshot, even from sight. Legolas has that special air to him that denotes a _private_ moment. Thranduil’s in a similar mood.

Legolas reaches the small platform that rests just below Thranduil’s throne, and he kneels down before his king. He places his hand over his heart, bows low enough for his white-gold hair to brush the polished floor, and then he rises again to his full height. Thranduil nods his head to indicate that Legolas may speak.

Legolas parts his pink lips and sucks in a breath, daring to announce, “I... believe you may have been too cruel towards the dwarves, Ada.” Thranduil lifts a delicate brow, but the choice of titles is telling. Eyes averted to his feet, Legolas continues, “They are frustrating, yes, but perhaps we could learn more from them if they were to be treated with respect.” The last word makes Thranduil snort. Dwarves don’t know the meaning of _respect_. And Legolas surely knows that.

Thranduil hisses thinly, “You heard how I was spoken to, my little leaf. Do you believe that was not a punishable act?”

“You evoked it yourself,” Legolas counters with startling ease. Or it would be startling, if Thranduil didn’t know his goals. Then he has the nerve to actually _turn_ as though to leave.

Before he makes it a single step, Thranduil growls, “Where do you think you are going?” Legolas instantly halts, looking back again. The movement’s made it easy for Thranduil to play along; he _never_ allows his subjects to leave without dismissal. Thranduil works his features into a snarl to fiish, “Enough, ion nín. Come kneel before your king. It is obvious that you are in desperate need of a reminder of whom you belong to.”

Legolas looks desperate indeed. His breath quickens with the order, and he hurries to obey. He climbs the last few steps and falls to his knees at the top of them, forcing Thranduil’s knees to part to allow him room. Legolas comes in the armour of the guard, but properly bowed, he’s just as soft a beauty as when he dons his silken night robes. He keeps his gaze lowered, his crystal eyes half lidded in thick lashes, his cheeks lightly flushed and his lips slightly parted. He’s a sight to behold, one Thranduil treasures. But Thranduil spares no mercy for it; his voice is cold when he asks, “Now... how shall _you_ be punished, brat? Do you wish to drink from your father’s shaft or feel it paint you? Either way, you clearly must be marked again, so that my claim is branded deep in you, and you are forced to recall your loyalty.”

Legolas doesn’t so much as flinch at the suggestion. Instead, his eyes light. His mouth quickly closes, perhaps even fighting a moan. Then he licks them, only to answer haltingly, “If it is to ‘mark me’... should it not cover my face?” Thranduil lifts another eyebrow in amusement, donning a languid grin, and Legolas hesitates and adds, “But... it would be difficult to explain as I left your halls, if I were drenched so...”

“A little bit of both, perhaps,” Thranduil muses, thinking along the same lines. Although he’s quite sure that if the guards were to witness Legolas leaving bruised and naked, they still wouldn’t say a word. They know the prowess of their king and the royal dynamic born of centuries. Legolas nods in acceptance. For all his disobedience in the field, _this_ is the one area he behaves in. Except, of course, when he _wants_ the punishment. 

He watches in rapt fascination as Thranduil parts his own robes at his waist, gathering back the silver tails and unlacing the trousers below. Legolas is now leaning so close that his shoulders are sandwiched between Thranduil’s thighs. When Thranduil opens his trousers enough to free his cock, it nearly hits Legolas’ face on its escape. Incredibly long, thick, and fully hard, it bobs before Legolas’ eager eyes. Thranduil wraps his hand around the base and presses it against Legolas’ cheek, idly drawing the head down and across his lips. Legolas moans, leaning into it, and Thranduil tsks, “Shall I stop, ion nín? You seem to be enjoying yourself, and that would not be fitting of one facing the wrath of their king.”

“Sorry,” Legolas breathes. His eyes fall closed, as though afraid to eye the magnificent beast in front of him. Thranduil continues to tap against his cheeks, to trace the lean line of his nose, and to rub into his forehead. Legolas looks like he wants to whine.

Thranduil hisses, “Drink what you can, my leaf. I will be _very_ angry if you are to stain too much of your robes by the failure of your mouth.”

Legolas parts his lips, perhaps to answer, but the words die into a long groan as Thranduil allows himself to spill. He pisses directly against Legolas’ smooth forehead, and the clear yellow liquid splatters there and trickles slickly down between Legolas’ eyes. He keeps them smartly closed, but he opens his mouth wide as the golden shower reaches his lips, instantly trickling inside. The rest spreads across his cheeks and drizzles down his chin, but Legolas’ tongue is quick to catch what it may. Thranduil controls the stream as much as he can. He didn’t have any great need to go before this, and he wants to savour the moment, to enjoy the look of Legolas’ handsome features drenched in another’s claim. The moisture makes him shine.

He gathers what he can on his tongue, and for a good while, that’s enough. Thranduil rubs into him, smearing across his pretty skin, lavishing in the softness. Then, when Thranduil thinks himself near the middle, he trails down Legolas’ nose, only to poke his cock between Legolas’ lips. Legolas makes a muffled noise of surprise but immediately opens for him, even sucking him in. The piss sloshes straight down Legolas’ tongue and into his throat—Thranduil keeps pressing until he can feel the back of it. Legolas moans deliciously.

To be entirely truthful, Thranduil’s had many mouths around his cock. Legolas is by far his favourite, and currently his only. Legolas knows exactly what he’s doing, and he sucks Thranduil with relish, tongue busily lapping away anything that spills. He deep-throats Thranduil as though he wants nothing more than a stomach full of the contents of Thranduil’s cock, and Thranduil benevolently obliges. He even lets Legolas continue to suck after the final drops have spilled, and Legolas is whining for _more_.

Thranduil then pulls out, only to slap Legolas once in the face with it. Legolas winces, and Thranduil enjoys a soft chuckle. By now, the layer of piss on Legolas’ eyelids has thinned enough for him to lift them. He looks up at Thranduil, bleary and dilated, and murmurs, “I beg forgiveness, Ada.”

Thranduil snorts and shifts one foot between Legolas’ spread thighs. The heel of his boot presses down on the bulge there. Legolas gasps and buckles. “You only say that because you wish release, ion nín,” Thranduil drawls. “You have not truly learned a lesson...” He applies a bit of pressure, and Legolas moans, dropping forward to bury his face in Thranduil’s knees. Thranduil tsks at having his trousers dampened, although he plans to retire soon now anyway. He lets Legolas writhe helplessly against him for a moment, smartly biting back any unbidden pleas. There’s only one Thranduil would listen to.

Finally, Legolas breaks and admits in a broken sob, “I am sorry, Ada! You are right. The dwarves are lewd vermin, and they belong in the cells. I should never have questioned you!”

Thranduil chuckles, “You are right, ion nín. ...And I suppose for that admission, I will allow you to hump yourself to completion against my leg, like the animal your disgusting sympathies have turned you into.”

Legolas groans but gratefully obeys. It isn’t until he’s spilled himself inside his tights that Thranduil finally allows them to leave, Legolas doubly painted in his sin and all the more lovely for it. The guards eye him enviously as they pass. 

In Thranduil’s chambers, the pretense falls away, and Legolas truly pitches his loyalty.


End file.
